


Commander of the Grey

by TerraTheTerror



Series: Moth's Wings Universe [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Multi, focuses on Wardens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraTheTerror/pseuds/TerraTheTerror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one embodies the Grey Wardens more than her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commander of the Grey

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble that kind of sets the world state for the Moth's Wings universe. Emphasis on kind of.

_In war, victory._

Grey means between horizons. Not day or night but hazy dusk, when the air itself seems to blur all edges. Grey is whatever it takes to stop the Blight. The Wardens know this well. But most have trouble keeping their priorities in check.

Amell is particularly ruthless—he is the only one truly drawn to Morrigan and vice versa. Their cold stirs something warm between them, but the others do not trust him. They believe he is power hungry, and he does not disagree. He constantly places himself before the Blight.

Tabris is harsh as well, though her attitude stems from anger rather than indifference. Her righteous fury strikes out too heatedly, burning people she means to leave alone. This scares and thrills her in equal measure. Helplessness has become a foreign concept to her, and she revels in it. She forgets, sometimes, that the Blight can drain her still. She forgets there is still much left to lose.

Mahariel is a nervous wreck. She has stumbled over decisions for as long as the others have known her. (They do not know about Tamlen, about what her last choice wrought. They do not know that it is as much guilt as it is fear that makes her falter). As a result, she does not prioritize at all. Like Alistair, she takes comfort in following her fellow Wardens.

Cousland is unsure of himself. Without Fergus or his parents to guide the way, he has become lost. There is a hollow ache inside of him, and the only way to fill it is with Howe’s blood. Revenge, revenge, revenge, spinning through his head until that is all he knows. Zevran understands, at least. He felt it once too, and now he struggles to drag Cousland away from that abyss.

Audecan. A noble betrayed by his own brother. His thirst for revenge is greater than Cousland and Tabris’ combined. Betrayed by blood in a world where blood is everything. His fingers constantly twitch towards his axe, not to kill darkspawn but to split his so-called brother in half. He cannot stand for it.

Surana is not like the other recruits. Neither she nor Amell suffered great personal tragedy to get here. So her kindness remains untouched by grief, although losing friends is becoming a more common occurrence. She is the first to defend others and the first to stay her hand in mercy. But that proves problematic when she hands silver and sovereigns to every poor soul they meet, money the Wardens and their companions need for poultices and equipment. She does not focus on the Blight itself, accidently treating its side effects instead.

Alistair likes her, at least. Not surprising. He is as much as a naive goof-off as Surana is. He grates on Morrigan’s nerves and watches Wynne with puppy eyes. He is a man-sized child, in many ways, and would rather hide from his duties as Theirin heir than face them. Which is fine. He is a Grey Warden, not a prince. But he is no leader, and the decisions they face make him cringe.

In the end, only one Warden is capable of leading them to victory.

* * *

 

_In peace, vigilance._

Her eligibility as their leader is clear. When Alistair and Surana let their guard down, Brosca is still perfectly ready to throw one of her knives. Constantly alert, yet not paranoid like Tabris, who would shake everyone they met for weapons if she could. Not even the Chanters would be safe from her.

Brosca is, in fact, wonderful to her fellow Wardens and the rest of their companions. She sees things that remind her of someone and takes it, giving it to them later so that for just one moment, there is a flash of joy in the dreadful days full of darkspawn and death. Sometimes she goes out of her way to please the others. Hunting down Sten’s sword was no easy task. Still, she did it.

And she never denies them moments of peace. Sometimes it means playing a game of cards around the campfire. Other times, they enjoy doing their own thing, with Sten polishing his reclaimed sword and Wynne reading with a bottle of wine. Alistair and Surana are particularly fond of challenging Sandal and Brosca’s mabari, Yams, to a game of hide-and-seek. (They never ask Cousland’s mabari, Chipper. Apparently, there is no beating that dog’s nose.)

So while the others take breaks, relax and enjoy themselves, Brosca keeps a grip on her daggers. She watches shadows with dark, weary eyes and sleeps the least out of all of them. She wants them safe. Who better to carry out her own desires than herself?

(Only Leliana can bring her to relax. Whenever she strums her lute and sings, Mahariel and Sten take up watch so their leader can rest. Brosca lets her hands fall to her side as she sags to the ground beside her lover and finally feels at peace.)

* * *

 

_In death, sacrifice._

Brosca refuses Morrigan’s ritual. It hurts the witch. Brosca was a good listener, had helped Amell search for a mirror just like the one her mother smashed—

That’s the problem, Brosca tells her. Morrigan she has faith in, but this ritual was taught to her by Flemeth. Brosca’s eyes are hard as the Stone when she says that the Wardens will not trust Flemeth after what they found in that Grimoire. Morrigan curses her and vows to leave that night. She will not watch her friend throw her life away needlessly.

The next morning, Brosca smirks as Morrigan appears battle ready. She thinks Morrigan has had a change of heart. A few hours later, Brosca changes her mind.

Morrigan must have been here to gloat over how right she was.

They don’t know where Riordan is, and it’s time for the final blow. Surana and Alistair are closest to the archdemon. Brosca will lose a friend one way or another. She has failed them both.

But neither runs to their death. They are, Brosca realizes, dumb enough to argue over who dies in the middle of battle.

It is Alistair who comes to his senses first, pushing Surana back as he takes his sword to charge—

—but he takes too long. Brosca has seized the opportunity. Hefting a greatsword she looted from a Hurlock, she runs yards ahead of him, ignores his and Surana’s shouting as she leaps through the air. Slices through scale and flesh and bone until there is a clear path to the beast’s heart.

The archdemon dies with an agonized screech. Brosca flinches at the sound and prepares to rejoin the Stone.

But she doesn’t.

Moments later, Alistair and Surana help her to her feet. She does not know what happened, thinks that something must have gone wrong, that she isn’t a true Warden, that she has failed again.

That is when Amell appears with the smuggest look Brosca has ever seen and says, very matter-of-fact, “Aren’t you glad I went behind your back and bedded Morrigan.”

Suddenly Leliana’s arms are around her, forcing Brosca’s face into her neck as she bends over the dwarf and squeals something in Orlesian. Brosca closes her eyes and feels Leliana’s heartbeat in her hands, her ears, her soul.

She hopes Amell sees when she nods yes.


End file.
